The Grim Reaper and the Sorcery School
by Eleos Argentum
Summary: "Death the Kid and the Broken Soul" AU – Eleven years ago Voldemort disappeared without a trace. Harry Potter is a normal wizard child who lives with his loving parents. This year he starts in Hogwarts; among his classmates stands a mysterious boy by the name Kidd d'Eath.
1. The Theft and The Heir

**Summary:** "Death the Kid and the Broken Soul" AU – Ten years ago Voldemort disappeared without a trace. Harry Potter is a normal wizard child who lives with his loving parents. This year he starts in Hogwarts; among his classmates stands a mysterious boy by the name Kidd d'Eath.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and everything related is the mind child of J. K. Rowling while Soul Eater characters and world were created by Atsuchi Okubo.

While I was writing my fic "Death the Kid and the Broken Soul" it was stated that Lord Death sent people from DWMA to collect the souls of some Death Eaters but not Voldemort's, so it was only natural that the feared _"What If…?"_ question would pop in my twisted little mind.

What if Lord Death did send someone for Voldemort's soul? How things would have changed in the HP universe? Turns out the answer is a rather long one…

**The Grim Reaper and the Sorcery School.**

Chapter One.

_The Theft and the Heir._

His attacks were continuous, but restrain; he had learnt that giving the witch time enough to concentrate would allow her to disappear; in the other hand, pushing her far enough would make her disappear anyway, leaving back a limb or some other body part.

Though it would be amusing, it wouldn't ensure her death.

His yellow eyes locked in his prey, the Meister raised his Weapon and charged forward.

Breathing hard, the witch raised her wand and sent ray after ray of green light.

The thirteen years old dodged every shot, got in range and punched with his open hand on the woman's stomach.

The witch was propelled backwards, landing on her back, nursing her aching middle section; she bent as her mouth opened and blood poured out of it.

Not wasting a second, the Meister swung his scythe and cut.

The witch's body reaped apart in darkness, leaving behind nothing but her corrupted soul…

"They may called themselves 'witches' if they want, but their souls turned in Kishin-eggs just as regular humans souls do," pointed one star, thirteen years old DWMA student, Spirit Albarn after swallowing the red glowing orb.

"There isn't any major difference before either," shrugged his schoolmate and partner Franken Stein scratching the side of his head and popping a lollipop in his mouth.

"Well," Spirit stretched, "time to report to the boss."

"You do it."

The red headed rolled his eyes. "Come on, Stein. You can't be afraid of him forever..."

"Yes, I can."

The Scythe shrugged and walked to a nearby store; once there, he breathed on the showcase surface and drew the numbers:

"42-42-564, whenever you want to knock on Death's door…" mumbled Spirit.

The glass turned foggy and gave way to the Skull-cartoonish mask of the Grim Reaper.

"Ah! Spirit and Franken! How did it go~?"

"Well enough, sir," informed Spirit. "We got the Kishin-egg."

"Any trouble?"

"The hard part is to catch them," sighed Stein, running a hand through his already messy hair. "That ability of theirs to appear and disappear as they please it's frankly troublesome."

Lord Death nodded. "I'll dispatch the hellhounds. Anything else?"

"The real problem is their leader, sir. If not for him, most of this people wouldn't be killing nor turning into Kishin-eggs."

Death sighed. "Yes, I know. We have to cut the snake's head, so to speak." He remained in silence for a moment. "Though there is something odd about that particular soul…" Lord Death frowned before sighing. "This requires further investigation…"

Looking back at his young students, he blinked and frowned.

"You looked tired, Spirit," observed Lord Death.

"It's nothing, sir. I've been having troubles sleeping, that's all."

"Don't say... Anything unpleasant?" asked the Reaper, eyeing Stein, who was whistling innocently, hands in his pocket.

"Just some weird nightmares where a psycho strips me to a table and experiments on me."

"Oh, don't say..."

Stein shivered; Lord Death knew or at the very least suspected. He'll have to stop experimenting with his partner for the time being...

-o-o-o-

It was a cold, wet night.

In a room above the bar at the Hog's Head Inn, Professor Dumbledore -Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizarding School Headmaster- was at the end of an interview for the post of Divination Teacher; it had proven to be a big waste of time.

Sighing deeply, the old wizard stood up, being imitated by the young witch in front of him.

"I am sorry, Miss Trelawney," he said, pulling his cloak over his shoulders, "but I'm afraid you would not be suitable for the position."

The man was about to turn around and head for the door when the Seer suddenly became stiff; her mouth opened and a harsh, rough voice -completely different from her own- spoke:

"_The Theft shall flee once again; even so, Death will prevail in the end."_

The room fell in absolute silence as Dumbledore's blue eyes fixed on the entranced woman; her lips kept moving and the words kept flowing:

"_Mighty and powerful, fear by everyone though reign by his own fear, the Evil Lord stands proud… But it is by the Heir's hand that he shall find his fall and demise on All Hallows' Eve night… And the Dark Lord's will shall be granted… And the Evil Lord will meet his biggest desire at the time he faces his biggest dread… And he will chase the Heir not knowing what he seeks… A Child born from his Worst Nightmare… A Fragment born by the same fashion he has entrusted his existence, with a whole different meaning … Belonging to Death, the only soul Death will never claim… The Heir shall ascend to the Dark Lord's place…And the World will be shaped in a new Order."_

Trelawney's head fell forward; her breath was elaborated. She blinked a couple of times before regaining her composure.

"I'm so sorry… What I was saying?" She giggled softly. "I've feeling off all day; I guess I lost consciousness for a moment…"

As Dumbledore regarded her with an intense stare, a commotion was taking place outside the door; in the threshold stood the barman, holding by the collar of his robe a thin young man with black greasy hair.

-o-o-o-

Lord Voldemort dismissed his trusty Death Eater and leaned back on his chair, considering the information he had just been given.

A prophecy foretelling his downfall…

The wizard frowned. He must find this _Heir…_ before he has any chance of finding him.

Before the night of All Hallows' Eve.

-o-o-o-

_Kill the Heir before he kills you._

_Kill the Heir before he kills you._

Voldemort was obsessed; the Prophecy kept haunting him anytime, every time; Severus' words echoed in his ears, waking him at midnight, distracting him from his meeting with his Death Eaters, carrying his mind away, scattering his heart with dread…

The Prophecy was incomplete. He only knew that some Heir would bring his fall and demise on Halloween night… and even with the precautions he had already taken for that dreadful day; it didn't mean the danger would pass with it…

It would only mean that that wasn't the year.

To be sure he had killed the one destined to defeat him…

He needed to know the whole prophecy, damn it!

To get the whole damn thing he would have to go to the Mystery Department at the Ministry.

The Seer –more likely than not- would be completely useless, though Voldemort wasn't against… _interrogating_ her. Seers usually had not recollection of their own prophecies but he always could torture her until she… _decide_ to cooperate and foretell a way to stop that bloody Heir or secure the Dark Lord survival.

Not like that was any likely but it could greatly help to release some frustration.

But she was at Hogwarts, under Dumbledore's watchful eye.

Voldemort closed his red serpentine eyes and massaged his temples.

He couldn't kill every wizard and witch, hoping that one of them will be the Heir. It would take too long and he would never be sure of getting the correct one.

He needed to be sure.

Who could be that Heir? Someone who has something to inherit, but what?

He didn't even consider Muggles and Mud-Bloods; they were heirs of nothing but filthiness.

No, his Enemy was of magical lineage -Half-Blood or Pure-Blood- and it will be their lineage what shall reveal them.

Fame, prestige, richness, power…

Taking himself as example: Slytherin's Heir, the Last of the Gaunt Family.

Richness meant nothing; fame could easily became infamy; and Prestige was plainly laughable.

The only thing that matter, that always had and always will, was Power.

And that's how he'll find his enemy.

Of course Lord Voldemort could only be challenged by the most powerful and skillful of them all!

He'll center his search on the descendants of the most powerful and imminent wizards of all times.

But, just as himself at the beginning, the Heir could be ignorant of their lineage.

To be sure, he'll get rid of any outstanding wizard or witch as well of any "Heir" in the wizarding world for good.

Pure-Bloods had proven to be the perfect pawns once again.

Once their Master had showed the slightest interest in tracing the most important and ancient wizarding families, every single Death Eater had ran forward to present their entire genealogy, everyone claiming to have the more important and powerful ancestors.

Fools.

Lambs running to the Slaughter.

He hadn't tell them the reason behind his renewed interest in genealogy, and he had made sure to keep Snape (the only one amongst his forces who knew about the prophecy) ignorant of his latest main activity.

Truthful, the descendant of the Prince family was high in his list of possible "Heirs"; his approaching deceased was already planned, way before All Hallows' Eve Night.

But, even if he had ordered the few chosen (those who possessed the more specific and hopefully veritable genealogy trees) to remain in silence, he should have count with their veiled gloating, incisive comments and the impossible prideful smiles which they regarded the stupidest of things… and the ability of one Severus Snape to add two plus two and see what was really happening, confirming his theory even more with each single passing day and the various "accidental" deaths that came with them.

Therefore, Lord Voldemort hadn't caught the glimpse of understanding –and the fear it brought with it- in the black ink eyes of his most trusty lackey.

Black, Malfoy, Weasley, Lestrange, Avery, Crouch, Longbottom, Potter, Bones, Macmillan, Goyle, Diggory… And the list kept going.

But there was one… the last of a rather important family and -even if he weren't the prophesized enemy- a danger by his own.

Albus Dumbledore.

Another problem was the DMWA.

Death's goons had been mining his forces, though nothing he should worry about.

After all, they all were expendable and easy replaceable. And in some cases, he already had decided their deaths anyways.

As long as Death didn't bother to take the matter in his own hands, before Lord Voldemort was ready for him...


	2. A Rose by Any Other Name

**The Grim Reaper and the Sorcery School.**

Chapter Two.

_A Rose by Any Other Name._

_The Theft shall flee once again; even so, Death will prevail in the end._

_Mighty and powerful, fear by everyone though reign by his own fear, the Evil Lord stands proud._

_But it is by the Heir's hand that he shall find his fall and demise on All Hallows' Eve night…_

_And the Dark Lord's will shall be granted…_

_And the Evil Lord will meet his biggest desire at the time he faces his biggest dread…_

_And he will chase the Heir not knowing what he seeks…_

_A Child born from his Worst Nightmare…_

_A Fragment born by the same fashion he has entrusted his existence, with a whole different meaning …_

_Belonging to Death, the only soul Death will never claim…_

_The Heir shall ascend to the Dark Lord's place…_

_And the World will be shaped in a new Order._

Dumbledore sighed, looking at Trelawney's ghost like reminiscence turning around over herself in the Pensive like he had been doing for the last eleven years, since the prophecy had been spoken.

He hadn't been able to solve the puzzle; Voldemort had disappeared without a trace a long time ago, and he was even farther away from getting any answer.

No one had claimed to be the one responsible for defeating the Dark Lord (which would had been a deed a little too risky considering what some of his followers had been willing to do to find him, not to say avenge him if that was the case, thought shouldn't be a problem to anyone able to defeat Tom); but Dumbledore had made sure: Voldemort was last seen the morning of October 31st, 1980, and no one –not even his most trustworthy Death Eaters- had seen him after.

_So far._

It was only reasonable to assume the Heir and he had finally met.

_And how it had turned out._

The old Wizard stared at his memory without seeing it; Voldemort's search for his destined nemesis had caused a lot of pain. The man –he was a man not matter if he had ever admitted it or not, not even if most prefer to distance the human race of him by labeling him as a monster- had skillfully managed to make his followers and detractors do his evil deed, leading them to kill each other, taking special care to ensure the elimination of the descendants of the most ancient and notorious families and characters in Magical History.

And it only had stopped with Voldemort's disappearance.

Once again, his thoughts were drawn to the mysterious Heir…

He had his theories, of course, some of them a little bit too close of getting him a white, puffy chamber in St. Mungo; quite an accomplishment since there was no floor destined for the mentally ill –or anyone for that matter- who wasn't been victim of some kind of magical accident.

But, as certain muggle detective had once said, "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth".

…Which turns to be specially complicated when applied in the Magical World, and when you happened to be one of the most intelligent wizards alive…

The possibilities just grew exponentially.

Too often had he wondered if the cure would turn out to be worse than the disease…

_The Heir shall ascend to the Dark Lord's place…_

_And the World will be shaped in a new Order._

Voldemort he knew... how he thought, his methods, what to expect… He knew him and he could fight him, but if the Heir turned to be a new foe instead of an ally…

He could only hope that wasn't the case; he could only hope the new Order the Heir would bring would be a bright one…

He could only hope for the best and be ready for the worst…

And the worst scenario was confronting two Dark Lords instead of one…

With a wave of his wand, the image of Trelawney sunk in the Pensive; he recovered his memories and stood up.

He must meet an old friend…

-o-o-o-

In Death City, in beautiful, sunny Nevada, inside the Death Room, Lord Death watched the world through his mirror with a thoughtful frown on his white mask.

"Someone is after the Philosopher's Stone," he commented.

"The Philosopher's Stone? Sounds boring…" huffed 25 years old Death Scythe, Spirit Albarn.

"It's the treasure of Alchemy; a ruby-like stone able to transfigure any substance into gold and also used to elaborate an elixir that extends life," said Kid. "I studied Alchemy," he stated to answer the questioning look in his father's Weapon's eyes.

Spirit sighed. "I'm guessing a lot of people want gold and a long life… Any idea who's behind this?"

"The evidence so far points to Tom Riddle a.k.a. Lord Voldemort," informed his boss. "Our sources last pointed him in Albania; however, we have reasons to believe he is the Master Mind behind the whole deal."

Kid frowned gloomily at the name.

"Didn't you kill him already?" Spirit asked him.

"I did a poor job," he said. "I destroyed his body but his soul managed to escape."

Lord Death nodded. "And that's exactly why he'd need the stone: to recover his body, and therefore, his powers…"

But Kid was too busy to listen. "I'm useless… a piece of trash… I can't find a Weapon nor collect a soul… I should just die…" whined the young Reaper from his rant on the ground.

"Now," Lord Death clapped, "I got word that the stone will be kept at a sorcery school in Scotland and I was thinking of sending an undercover agent to ensure the security… You Kiddo~!"

"I'll just mess it up… _again_… Send someone else…" answered the depressed (and useless) Kid from the floor.

"But it has to be you! You are the best for the job!" cried his father.

"All teaching posts are taken, so we have to send a student, unless we forced some teacher to take a sabbatical year and that's too complicated too properly pull off without raising suspicions… There are seven years of elementary magical education, which begins when the children are eleven years old, so we need a child between eleven and eighteen with an excellent Soul Control for the magic thing.

"Sending some of our older and more experienced students won't do, since they would be expected to perform certain level of magic –which they don't know how, so they would be discovered instantly.

"Sending one of the younger and newer students of DWMA is completely out of the question; they wouldn't stand a chance, they would get caught ASAP.

"But you, Kid, you are young and cute! You are very experienced and your Soul Control is perfect! You can easily pass as a First Year student!"

Spirit nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah… I guess you could pass as anywhere between eleven and fifteen…"

"I can't do magic…" grumbled Kid from the ground.

"Of course you can! Grim Reaper powers are considered magic! And you'll master the wizarding kind in no time since it basically consists in canalizing your energy through a stick; kinda like Meisters and Weapons but without the feedback~

"Actually any creature can do wizarding magic as long as they possess the ability to canalize energy. Of course it requires a lot of study and practice, memorizing the spells and the stick moves and yaddah-yaddah. Piece of cake~

"You shouldn't have any problem at all, son, though the magic in the air would numb your Soul Perception, acting kinda like a Soul Protect, so you'll need to keep a watchful eye at all times.

"I'm counting on you, son. You'll do great~!"

Kid nodded, standing up and scrupulously brushing any trace of sand from his clothes. "If you are so sure I'm fit for the job, I'll do it, Father…"

"I do~" Lord Death bobbed enthusiastically. He waved a piece of paper. "And look! I happen to have an application form with me!

"Let's see~"

Lord Death cleared his throat and began reading:

"_HOGWARTS SCHOOL__of __WITCHCRAFT __and __WIZARDRY_

"_REGISTRATION FORM_

"_Name._

Lord Death looked at his son thoughtfully. "I don't think we can use your name; it will be better if no one there suspects about your mission, so we'll need an alias…

"I KNOW!" The Reaper bent over the paper and scribbled furiously. "Done~! Whatcha think~?" He shoved the paper under Kid's nose enthusiastically.

The youth read aloud. "Kidd d'Eath?"

"Clever, huh? Now, date of birth… October 31, 14-"

"If I'm posing as an eleven year old; it should be 1980," pointed Kid.

"Oh, right… 1980… That was close…" Lord Death whistled with relief. "Place of birth… Can't put Death City… Las Vegas then!

"Current address… We have a safe house near Las Vegas, let's use that… The next one is… Father's name! Oh, I get an alias too! What would be good? Whatcha think, Kiddo?"

"Uhm…" Kid tilted his head, frowning. "I don't know, maybe one of those people used to call you…?"

Lord Death clapped excitedly. "Which one? There are so many… Shinigami, Anubis, Hades, Thanatos (why Greeks thought I was two different people is beyond me…), Mors… What about Morti?"

"No."

"Morrigan, Barón Samedi, Azrael, Samael…"

"That could work…" pointed Spirit.

"Samael?" Lord Death pondered for a moment. "Nope. I know! What about Lloyd?"

"Lloyd?" Spirit raised an eyebrow. "Lloyd d'Eath and Kidd? Seriously? That's the best you can come with?"

"Why not~?" Lord Death wrote it down. "It has a familiar appealing… Age? I don't remember…"

"Father…"

"Oh, right! I'm posing as the father of a regular eleven year old… What age would be good? ... Hey, Spirit? How old were you when your child was born?"

"Eighteen." A blissful expression covered the red head's features. "I was eighteen when the Angel of purity and Light that Maka is blessed me with her sweet presence, vanishing the horrors and tribulations of my existe-"

"Eighteen plus eleven is twenty-nine!" Lord Death wrote it down, completely ignoring Spirit's outburst.

"Occupation…"

"We need something inconspicuous," stated Kid, "something that doesn't raise suspicion nor does need an elaborate background but also could explain any inconsistence.

"Maybe researcher…?"

"That's great! Researcher shall be~" Lord Death wrote it down and continued reading. "Mother's name… We don't need this… I'm not sharing credit of you with either a real or fictional person…" He crossed out all about the mother's information. "There! Done!"

Now the application form was smeared with black blobs of ink.

The Reaper inspected the rest of the paper and quickly filled the remainder spaces.

"I'll ask the executive secretary to get the proper documentation and send it all~" He whistled and a bat flew to him; Lord Death attached the paper to its leg and the bat flew away through one of the windows.

Spirit read some pamphlets, eyebrows raised. "You do realize this is a boarding school, right?"

Lord Death blinked. "Come again?"

"You've just signed Kid for a whole year in a boarding school in the United Kingdom… He'll be living in that school until next May…"

"…"

Lord Death stared at him.

"Uhm… Father?" Kid waved a hand in front of his mask.

"NOOO!" Lord Death yelled and ran to the window. "Come back here, you bad excuse of a rat! You won't take my baby away!"

He watched as the bat and a few others flew in the distance, carrying some envelopes.

"GET BACK HERE!" he yelled with all his lung capacity.

"They are gone, Father…"

Lord Death looked at Kid with watery hole-eyes.

"AND SO WILL YOU!" He cried broken-heartedly, squeezing his son's organs with a mighty hug. "What I'm gonna do without you?!"

"You'll be fine… It's for a short time… I'll talk to you every day…" assured Kid, rubbing his back softly.

"Who would I play videogames with?" asked his father.

"Spirit?"

"Whom would I complain about Spirit?"

"Kami?"

"Whom would I play practical jokes to make fun of Spirit?"

"Stein?"

"Hey! What?!"

"Not now, Spirit! Can't you see I'm suffering here?" snapped Lord Death before continuing sobbing and bawling.

Spirit's lip quivered and soon he found himself in a perfect symmetrical position -opposed to Lord Death's- also being consoled by Kid.

"HOW THE HECK I'M GONNA STAND HIM?! BWA…"

* * *

**A/N: **I'm so glad many of you liked the prophecy; it was partially inspired in a one-shot I can no longer find nor I remember the author… It was about Kid getting badly hurt in a fight, and if Death's Heir can die…

Originally this was going to be Chapter Three but I decided to skip Chapter Two since it would have been too tangled and some surprises would have been spoiled… Let's face it; you all know the original story, therefore, I must do an extra super special effort to mess with your head and blow up your minds with unexpected twists and turns.

Like a Gringotts' cart!

Therefore I decided to skip eleven years –how many of you noticed that Voldemort fell a year earlier in this timeline?- and go on with the story.

As you may imagine, the contents of chapter two will be release gradually as the story advances: just like the original one which we love so much~


	3. The First Approach

**Once again,sorry for the vanishing act... I got another job! And it's been stealing any free time I may had have...**

**Anyway, I'll try to update Death the Kid and the Broken Soul next.**

**Please tell me about my spelling mystakes... My Word isn't working properly and I couldn't check the grammar an stuff.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**The Grim Reaper and the Sorcery School.**

Chapter Three.

The First Approach

It was sunset when a bat entered the Death Room and flew straight to Lord Death, landing softly on his head. The gigantic white gloves of the Grim Reaper quickly detached the parchment the animal had been carrying.

"Hey, Kiddo! That sorcery school just sent your acceptance letter~!" announced Lord Death cheerfully, waving some sheets of paper around. "Let's see~"

He cleared his throat and proceeded to read aloud:

"_HOGWARTS SCHOOL__of __WITCHCRAFT __and __WIZARDRY_

"_Headmaster: __Albus Dumbledore__(__Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock,__Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards__)…_ \- Glad all that fit in just one page…

"_Dear Mr. d'Eath_ –That's you, Kiddo!

"_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted_ _at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please_ _find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._ _Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no_ _later than July 31._

"_Yours sincerely,_ _Minerva McGonagall,_ _Deputy Headmistress._

Lord Death sighed contempt. "I knew you'd be accepted! Too bad you aren't going."

Kid sighed as well. "Father, we've discussed this, remember? I must go to that school if we want to stop Voldemort once and for all…"

"But I would missed you too badly!" protested his father.

"Think about how many lives would be lost if he manages to return…"

"Okay, fine!" snapped Lord Death, pouting and folding his arms over his chest. "Get it your way and go to that stupid boarding school, thousands of miles away from me! See if I care!"

"Father…" Kid sighed and focused his attention back in the accepting letter. "What say the other pages?"

"Oh, of course! Put salt in the wound, wouldn't you?" Still, Lord Death passed the page. "Your school supplies list! Three sets of plain work robes black… One plain pointed hat black for day wear... You'd look so cute with a hat!" exclaimed the Reaper as his spirits returned.

"A WITCH hat, Father," pointed Kid out, frowning in distaste.

His father ignored him and continued reading:

"One pair of protective gloves dragon hide or similar; we can get something better… One winter cloak, black, silver fastenings… You can use your Reaper cloak just fine, don't you think so?"

"Yes!" Kid nodded vigorously, eager to wear just the most strictly necessary Witch clothing (don't take him wrong… There is a difference beteen wizards and witches _and_ Witches… but still dressing like the sworen enemies of the DMWA…).

"All clothes with name tags… Got it…" nodded Lord Death, passing to the next page.

"Ah! The books! _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_ by Miranda Goshawk, _A History of Magic _by Bathilda Bagshot, _Magical Theory _by Adalbert Waffling, _A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration _by Emeric Switch, _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore, _Magical Drafts and Potions _by Arsenius Jigger, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander, _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble.

"Did you see these names, Spirit? And you were worried they suspect of Kidd d'Eath! Ha!

"Other equipment: wand, cauldron, crystal phials, telescope, set brass scales…" He stopped abruptly; the eyes of his mask widening. "Oh, this is awesome!

"Here says you can have a pet but not a broomstick! I know! I'll get you a puppy~!"

"It doesn't say anything about dogs…" uttered Kid, peering at the list.

"Don't be silly, Kiddo. Who doesn't love puppies? While, you go to London to get your things, I'll get the puppy's stuff and once you are back we both will go to the dog pound and pick a puppy~! "

He gave his son the school list. "You'll need money. Wizards have their own currency; good thing we have an account in their bank.

"Gringotts," remembered Kid. "It's run by the Goblin nation."

"That's right~. Now, the wizards mustn't know who you are and what you are doing but we can trust Goblins. Ask them to show you the vault and also about the stone: right know it is being kept in one of the vaults. Ask them to keep us informed.

"Now, you'll have to buy at London all the books and most of the witchcraft material, but the wand is on me."

"Do you know how to do it, Father?" questioned Kid.

"Of course~! I made one sometime ago; pretty easy, you just need a piece of wood and something for the core…" He plucked a hair from Kid's head. "This'll do!"

Lord Death showed his son the hair he had taken and a long piece of wood that he had… taken… or made appear… from… somewhere? Anyway, with movements similar to a clown's making balloon animals, the Grim Reaper managed to combine the items and produced a perfectly crafted wand.

"Tah-dah~!"

He lend the stick to Kid, who proceeded at examine it.

From the tip, black skulls sprouted.

"Now, remember that wizard magic comes from focusing and canalizing your energy through the wand…"

"Can't they use magic without a focal point?"

"Like Meisters: only the most skilled ones can."

"Like Stein…" mumbled Spirit with a shudder.

Lord Death was looking at Kid, tapping at his mask pensively. "I think you'll have to get changed before you go, son. Remember that you are going undercover; no DWMA logo."

Kid nodded.

"That means you'll need a new wardrobe for your mission! I'll get you new clothes while I'm getting the puppy's things~!"

-o-o-o-

Everything in the list could be found in London at a place called Diagon Alley; it was a street full of magical shops, therefore its entrance was well guarded.

Kid entered a tiny, grubby-looking pub by the name 'The Leaky Cauldron'. As soon as he set a foot in the place, his eye began to twitch, for the pub was very dark and shabby. It could use a good, intense scrubbing and apply some symmetry in its rather disorganized furniture…

Regarless of its dirty and asymmetrical looks, the place was full, though its occupnats were nowhere near to impress someone who had been raised in Death City with all its extravagant inhabitants... The bartender, a bald man with a strong resemblance to a toothless walnut taught Kid the way to Diagon Alley.

Kid studied the magical street as he made his way to the Wizarding Bank,

where the stone was kept. Kid needed to both talk to the Goblins and retrieve some wizarding money from his father's vault. Both operations would be treated with the utmost secrecy.

He climbed the stairs of the snow white building; there was a Goblin standing by the door. The Goblin stopped in the middle of a bow, staring with wide, unbelieving eyes to the young Reaper…

"My lord!" cried the short being. "Such a surprise! We didn't know you'll be coming…"

"Please, don't!" Kid ushered quickly. "I'm working undercover for my father… I need information about the Philosopher's Stone and money from our vault."

"Understood," nodded the Goblin with brilliant eyes. "Can't let those wizards know anything…" He turned around a gesture one of the Goblins standing inside the silver doors of the banks; after a quick exchange of words, Kid was escolted through the bank. If he wanted his identity to remain secret he was poorly accomplishing it, since the hundred or more Goblins working at the counters fell in a deep silence as he walked by, keeping their eyes fixed on him, ignoring their current clients and stopping the scratching of their qills on parchment. He finally arrived into a big, well organized office, where an old Goblin sat behind a huge desk, meant to impressed whoever was worthy enough to be received by Ragnok…

"My Lord! How wonderful to be able to see you with my own eyes…!" greeted Ragnok with a crooked smile. "May I ask what can I do for you? Whatever the Goblin people can do to assist you and your father just say it and it shall be done."

Kid nodded. "Thank you, I really appreciate your words. My father has reasons to believe Voldemort is after the Philosopher's Stone which is currently under your care."

"Then the rumors are true…" whispered the Goblin. "Then we plead to you, sir, to prevent that man to regain his power.

"Those nasty humans are bad enough," spat Ragnok with fury, "but he is the worst that filthy race has ever produced!"

"I'm human too," said Kid frowning.

"Of course you are not, my Lord," retorted the other. "You are a Grim Reaper, Bringer of Order, one of the most dignified creatures there have ever existed.

"To put yourself at their level…" he was clearly offended. "Even more when they consider your species evil! Evil! The same as Boggarts, Banshees and Dementors!

"Humans –magical or not- think of themselves too highly and reward anyone else as trash…

"In the other hand –and I hope you will apologize my words, sir- that is exactly your and your father's deepest weakness as well as the reason we Goblins have you in such high standards: the fact that you see everyone –including yourselves- as equals.

"About your request, my Lord, it is against our code to talk about the bank's secrets…"

"I understand, we just wanted to ask if you could informed us about the Stone's security… We know it is to be relocated at Hogwarts, under Professor Dumbledore's vigilance, sometime soon."

Ragnok grunted. "Like that school is anywhere close to Gringott's security standards! It's such an insult!"

"Nicholas Flamel and Professor Dumbledore are friends… It's understable they trust each other."

"If you say so, my Lord. Still, I assure the stone would be perfectly safe in Gringotts.

"As I said before, it's against our rules to talk about the bank's secret, but since this is Lord Death's request I believe we can make an exception."

"Thank you."

"The stone is currently in Mr. Flamel's vault. We expect Dumbledore's representative to collect it somewhen next week."

"Could you please let us now once this happens?"

"Of course, my Lord! We shall keep you inform. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I need to retrieve some money for my father's vault."

"Of course, if you could wait here a moment, I'll send someone to retrieve it for you. How much money do you need?"

"Enough to cover Hogwarts' First Year material."

Ragnok raised an eyebrow. "May I ask why, sir?"

"Since you have agreed to keep us informed about the Stone I think I can tell you, but this mustn't leave this place.

"I will be attending Hogwarts undercover in order to protect the Stone."

"My most sincere condolences, my Lord."

-o-o-o-

Once back in Diagon Alley, Kid looked around to the multiple stores leaning along the street; the second shop at his left sported a sign with the legend: "Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions" so he headed that way.

He was received by a squat, smiling witch dressed all in lila.

Madame Malkin –for she was the witch- conducted him to the back of the shop, where two boys stood on footstool under their mothers' watchful sight.

The women – one with fiery red-hair, the other one with bright golden hair- were chatting excitedly, giggling every once in a while, while their sons wore resigned expressions on their faces as they were measured.

Madame Malkin slipped a robe over Kid's head and started to pin the sleeve.

"Hello," greeted the black-haired boy. "I'm Harry Potter and this is Neville Longbottom."

The blond raised his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"My name is Kidd d'Eath," nodded the young Reaper. "Nice to meet you."

"Are you American?"

"Yes, from Nevada."

"May I ask what brings you here?" asked Neville curiously.

"I'll be studying at Hogwarts…"

"So we are," commented Harry. "But, how comes you are attending Hogwarts? Shouldn't you be attending some school in America?"

Kidd shrugged. "My father decided Hogwarts woulb be better fitting."

"Well, that would make sense…" nodded Harry. "Afterall, Dumbledore is at Hogwarts and everyone says he is the best wizard there is."

"Where are your parents?" asked Neville, looking around.

"I'm on my own; Father can't come with me."

"Are you staying at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"No, I just came to buy my school supplies; I'll be back at home once I'm done."

"That's a long trip just to buy your supplies," observed Neville.

"Not really."

"Do you want to come with us?" offered Harry. "We are also buying our school things so we can show you around; our mums won't mind."

"That would be perfect, thank you," said Kid.

They were finally presented with their respective packages of robes.

"So good we only came for the uniform; otherwise, we'll be stranded here for hours…" sighed Harry, jumping down from his footstool.

Neville stared at Kid's T-shirt. "Is that a skull?"

Harry took a glance. "Nice! Jack Skellington!" At Neville's blank expression he elaborated. "It's a character from a movie, _Nightmare Before Christmas_… I've told you about movies, remember?"

"Oh, right! Those are like paintings that show a whole story, unlike books ilustrations.."

"That's right. This one was a bout a skeleton, King of Halloween Town, that tries to steal Christmas before realizing that he already has everything he needs…" He turned back to Kid. "My mum is Muggle-born, and she likes to keep in touch with their culture."

The boys then walked to where Lily Potter and Alice Longbottom waited, carrying their new clothes.

"Mum, this is Kidd d'Eath," introduced Harry.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Kid bowed slightly.

"The pelasure is mine, Kidd," smiled Lily.

"He'll be studying at Hogwarts and I offer to show him around Diagon Alley so we can make our shops together."

"That is very considerate, Harry, well done." She turned to Kidd. "Have you buy anything yet, dear?"

"Only my robes, madam."

She nodded. "Very well, let's go to Flourish and Blotts for the books."

-o-o-o-

After buying almost everything of the list –and taking several out-of-the-way turns to the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop so Harry could admired the Nimbus 2000 ("My Uncle Sirius is going to give me one for my birthday," had said Harry with pride. "He and Dad say that we'll find a way to sneak it in the school, but my Mum says that she'll ask Uncle Severus to snatch it and keep it until the next year."), the group took a break in Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlor before buying what both Harry and Neville had been waiting for: the last item in the school list…

Wands.

"So, Kidd, why didn't your parents come with you? It's a rather long trip for a young boy…" commented Mrs. Longbottom.

"He can't leave the city," said Kid. "It doesn't matter, really; I'm used to move on my own. I've been in London several times before."

The woman nodded slowly. "What about your mother?"

"I don't have one."

"Oh."

Kid frowned; there it was again. He had asked his father why every time he said he didn't have a mother people gave him those sympathetic looks or said they were sorry and quickly change the theme, but Lord Death hadn't known either.

"You said you were from America…?"

Change of theme… Check.

"I'm from Nevada."

"You are a little far away from home…" observed Mrs' Potter. "Wouldn't it be better for you to attend school somewhere closer to your home?"

"They don't have Dumbledore anywhere else, mum."

Lily laughed. "That's right. Professor Dumbledore is one of a kind…

"Well, if you are done with your ice-cream, I suggest we go for your wands now."

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 b.c. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair…

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Ollivander," greeted Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Longbottom.

"Good afternoon," mumbled their sons, somewhat shyly.

"Good afternoon," greeted Kid, focus in ignoring Mr. Ollivander's collection of dust.

The man smiled broadly. "Ah, Lily Evans -ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow; nice wand for charm work- and Alice Merrythought –twelve inches long, made of oak; excellent for healing."

Mr. ollivander unnaturally eyes wandered to the three young boys standing at his door. "Your children, Harry and Neville, I pressume… And you are…?" He towered over Kid, staring at him, tilting his head.

"Kidd d'Eath," answered him, glad Mr. Ollivander had no trace of strabism… "I'm from America."

The old wizard nodded and turned around. "Very well, let's introduce you three to my wands and see which ones chose you…

"I already have one," said Kid.

Ollivander raised his eyebrows with interest. "You already have one? Do you have it with you? May I see it?"

Kid doubted for a moment before reluctanty lending his wand to the expert.

"Let's see..." mumbled the wizard, adjusting his glasses and studying the artifact in his hands. "Yew... Thirteen inches... Rather rigid... The crafting is a delicacy, the details at the handle are quite outstanding..." He raised it and stared at it under the shop's dim light. "Oh, my..." He twirled the wand in trembling fingers, balancing and weighting it. He looked at Kid with narrowed eyes. "Who made this?"

Kid hesitated but finally answered. "My father."

'Your father...? What's his name?'

"Lloyd d'Eath."

"Is he a wand maker?"

"No."

"But he certainly has experienced in wand making..."

Kid shrugged. "He said he made another one before…"

"Another one?" repeated Mr- Ollivander aghast. "Just another one?"

"I think so, yes..."

"Amazing... Truly amazing..." Ollivander examined the wand a little more. "This is a master piece! By far the best wand I've ever seen! What kind of core did he use?"

"I don't know..." answered the young Reaper, pulling nervously at his hair.

"Definitely hair... but I don't know which creature it belongs to... Maybe Thestral…? No, that's not it…"

He continued examining it, watching the piece from every angle, running his fingers over the wood, caresing the crafting... Kid's companions observed the developing scene with curiosity.

"Such an excellent work..." Ollivander sighed, embellesed. "Such a powerful wand... Though it gives a dark feeling," mumbled the wizard.

"Dark...?" repeated Lily with a frown.

"Oh, nothing bad! Just dark…" assured the man. He turned to Kid. "May I cast a spell...?"

"Sure," nodded the child, focusing his Soul Perception, getting ready to study the mechanisms of magic; he was surprised to find his perception numb but remembered what his father had said about magic working as a Soul Protector, and considering he was in the middle of a store full with magic wands...

Ollivander raised his hand once again and, giving the wand a soft wave, he incantated the spell:

"_Aguamenti."_

Icy air rushed through the store, blowing the many boxes out of their shelves, crashing the crystal of the showcase and door into dust, leaving a thin layer of frost on every surface.

"I'm sorry!" spoke Kid. "I didn't know it would do that!"

Harry stared wide-eyed through his mother's protecting hug, as did Neville.

Silently, Ollivander returned the wand to his owner; as soon as the wood rested on the child's fingers, a dark purple mist and black sparks erupted from the tip.

"Some wands establish a strong affinity towards their owners... but I have never seen such a zealous one... Have you had it for long, Mr. d'Eath?"

"...This morning..."

"Only this morning..." Ollivander nodded silently to himself, watching the boy with the same interest he had shown to his wand. Suddenly he asked. "Would you mind trying some of my wands?"

Kid blinked in confusion before looking at his wand.

"I'm curious as to how they would react to you, that's it. As a wand maker, I'd love to see how my creations work for the owner of such a master piece.

"Don't worry, you don't have to cast a spell, just hold them."

Kid bit his lip, his mind running through his options. Coming in the wand shop had been a major mistake: he and his wand had already begun to raise suspicion. What would happen if he refused to try the wizard's wand and leave? Would it make the suspicions grown? What would happen if he did try other wands...?

"Okay, I guess it won't hurt…" _I hope._

Mr. Ollivander's face glowed with excitement. "Excellent!"


	4. The Hound of Death

**Hey, there. Sorry I've been in the limbo. Too much work.**

**I had had this chapter written in my notebook for almost two months and it was until now that I found the time to write it in my computer, check, correct and upload.**

**The next chapter of Death the Kid and the Broken Soul should be online by Monday; I have the chapter almost ready but I still need to watch a couple of movies (Dracula Untold, Sucker Punch,...) to get inspired and write the action scenes.**

**Well, enjoy the chapter, which was inspired by my dog, my sister and their lovely relationship.**

* * *

**The Grim Reaper and the Sorcery School.**

Chapter Four.

_The Hound of Death._

"…it shrieked and burst in dark fire…" Kid groaned. "The only thing left was a bunch of ashes in the floor… And that is something that store definitely doesn't need! It was already too dusty and dirty before… Not too asymmetrical; that's the good thing about such tiny, rectangular boxes; you can arrange them so nicely, so symmetrically…"

"Did you try another wand?"

"Yes, two more… Once I held the second one it cracked and broke in two… which wasn't bad because they were two perfectly symmetric halves… and then the core –it was unicorn hair- turned black. Mr. Ollivander said it had lost its magic.

"By the time I tried the last one, Mr. Ollivander was extremely pale… He seemed rather wary about letting me have another of his wands but he did anyway; I asked if he was sure about it, but he just nodded, so it was probably only my imagination. Though when the wand exploded and set fire to a nearby shelf, he started crying…"

"He must have put a lot of work in those wands… though why he would ask you to continue after the first one's demise is beyond me…

"'Kay, here we are~" announced Lord Death, standing in front of a double set of metallic, reinforced, gargantuan doors; the only entrance to a terrifying fortress made by a thick, 40 meters tall fence made of reinforced iron, crowned with spike wire and sporting several warning signs, each more terrifying than the previous. "The Helldogpound!

"Let's get you a cute puppy!"

-o-o-o-

Hell had broken loose.

The earth shook fiercely and bright flames of hot fire rose every here and there.

People screamed, in pain, in desperation, to one another, to their fate…

To the traitorous god that had allowed such thing to happen.

Whatever they did to try and contain the catastrophe wasn't enough.

"_You promised_!" It was a desperate cry, charged of hurt and terror.

The beasts snarled and growled, yelped, yipped, hissed, barked…

Trying to confront them, to step on their path, was beyond stupid.

It was hopeless.

The responsible of such inferno stood in the middle of the vast yard, laughing heartedly.

"Who's a good dog? Who's a good dog? You are! You all are such good dogs!"

Lord Death managed to scratch the bellies, ears, necks and heads of at least four dozens of hellhounds, including Cerberus, Grims, Baskerville Hounds, Barghests, Black Shucks, Calegos, Gytrashs, Gwyllgies and so on.

The mutts yelped in delight; those who were too far away from the Grim Reaper to be pet fought with renew efforts in order to make their way to the front rows.

A tongue of bluish fire rose from the congregation, hitting a wooden shed and turning it to ashes in an instant. Another shot from another dog (this time a red flame) and a new fire started in the yard, adding to the several dozens already consuming the place, not to mention the mini earthquakes, tornadoes and waves o shadows and darkness that sprout occasionally.

"WHERE'S THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER?!"

"WE RAN OUT! GET SOME WATER!"

"HOW'S THAT POSSIBLE?!"

"LORD DEATH WANTED THEM TO PLAY WITH THE HOUNDS!"

"WHAT WERE ALL THOSE SIMULATIONS FOR?! TELL ME! WHAT WERE THEY FOR?!"

"DEATH! HAVE MERCY!"

Ignoring the crying, swearing, screaming, the emergency maneuvers taking place and the several fires and animal attacks that had caused them, -and petting the many –_many-_ dogs, Lord Death turned to his son.

"Okay, Kiddo, The puppies are over there; in that section with the iron gates. Be careful. They might be small, flurry and cute, but they are smart -_extremely smart_\- and have the advantage of number… Right now they could be plotting to kidnap you and force you to scratch their furry, warm tummies. They like it…." He then turned to the dogs and cooed, while still petting and scratching. "Isn't that right? Yes, it is… It's true… You really, really, really like it~"

The five dozens or so of dogs receiving his attentions barked in agreement, which started another fight for the petting spots, originating new fires and the desire for an early retirement from the 67% of the workers.

The other 33% had already passed out.

-o-o-o-

After dodging and asymmetrically scratching the ears of several dogs, Kid finally arrived at a smaller –though still pretty large- fence where several puppies were goofing around.

Once they noticed him, the puppies ran to his encounter, yipping in excitement, tripping over one another and their own feet and ears; waggling their tails and little pink tongues hanging out.

Kid entered the fence and the puppies surrounded him. Some of them stood on their hinder legs, their front legs perched on Kid's legs and feet and over other puppies.

Some of them were biting his pants and shoelace, eliciting a twitching eyebrow from the young Reaper. All of them were sniffing at him with a blissful expression on their furry faces.

The puppies kept struggling, trying to reach the boy and got some attention.

A rather determined puppy –black with white spots on the tip of its right ear, half of its chest and covering its right paw- climbed over its siblings and friends, walking over them happily, making its way to Kid. Once there, it started jumping, trying to climb Kid.

The boy's eye twitched when the puppy looked at him with reddish, adoring eyes; its tongue falling out of its mouth… hanging from the right side.

"No!" He fetched the puppy and raised it to eye level; the puppy yapped excitedly and made its best attempt to lick his nose.

"Your tongue must fall in front of your snout! Otherwise it's unsymmetrical!"

The puppy yelped happily, licked its snout… and its tongue once again stuck out, this time from the left side.

Kid frowned, a vein popping on his forehead. He reached with his fingers for the offending tongue, stopping suddenly, remembering that it was actually a _dog's tongue_, slimy, and drooled and so, so unhygienic…

"Hey, Kiddo! Catch!"

He turned around in time to catch, with one hand, a small black collar with a dog tag; the puppy –who was being held in the crock of his other arm- took advantage of its new position and finally managed to licked his face.

"AGH! NO!" He glared at the puppy that in turn waggled its tail happily; its tongue –yet again- hanging from the side of its mouth.

"Check out the name, Kiddo~!" called his father from where the adult hellhounds were dragging him away; if not against his will or against his consent, they certainly hadn't asked him first.

Kid looked at the skull shaped tag on the leather collar.

A perfectly symmetric "8" was engraved in the silver surface.

-o-o-o-

Extract from a letter address to Lord Death the Kid, from Griphook, Goblin Head of the Gringotts Bank, dated on July, 31st, 1991:

"_As you asked from me, milord, I am fulfilling my promise to keep you inform about the status of certain article._

"_The item in question has been retrieved today, milord._

"_I also felt the duty and need to inform you that, not too long after this, someone managed to intrude the chamber where it used to be kept, presumably in order to steal it._

"_So far, our investigations have thrown no results about the culprit's identity nor the methods used to violate our security measures; neither have the ones conducted by the wizards, but since they are useless, idiotic individuals who hold their pathetic abilities in such high standards, nothing else was to be expected._

"_We are still looking about the incident, sir; it is a serious offense for us, to have someone sneaking through the treasures under our custody, but to have the burglar so easily run away!_

"_Oh… __**Once we manage to get our hands on them…!**_

"_As expected, we will be sure to keep you inform about the progress of our investigation and the ones that –doubtfully- could result from the wizards…"_

-o-o-o-

About month later, Kid was in the Death Room, crouched in front of a black chest, craved with skull patterns, trying to accommodate his new clothes (underwear, of course, and mostly black pants and shirts, the later sporting skull designs such as Jack Skellington's face, the Punisher logo, an assorted collection of Jolly Rogers, Scream Movie, Monster High, the Poisonous Sigh and so on…); his school supplies, bought in Diagon Alley; his brand new "Symmetry and Order" kit (consisting in several rules and measure tapes; balls and marbles; a calibrator; short, medium and large dusters; a collection of brushes for every use; soap, Windex, bleach and cleaning clothes; a hand vacuum; a sewing kit; color samples; several strings and a few more useful items; patent pending); hygiene supplies, books, and everything a young Grim Reaper may need (or not) while living away from home for almost a whole year while scouting a Magic School, waiting for a Dark Wizard that should be dead by then to make his move. Eight's toys –including her Lord Death Teddy and Spirit flavored chew-toy-, food, blankets, bed and brush were already packed –by Lord Death himself- in her very own travel chest (black, of course, with bones pattern).

Lord Death was grooming the little dog, making sure there wasn't any sand left in her fur. Then, Spirit came, covered in dirt and soil, his pants missing.

"That damn dog! She buried me again! And she stole my pants!"

"Oh, you did?" asked Lord Death, cocking his head, looking at Eight. The dog chewed the brush in Death's hand (between the index and the thumb, you know how big his gloves are…). "I guess it is the bacon~?"

"What bacon?!" inquired the Weapon warily.

"The one I put in your pockets~?"

"WHY THE HECK DID YOU PUT BACON IN MY POCKETS?!

"You would have noticed a hamburger, duh."

Spirit fumed in anger. "Stop this! I'm not the stupid dog's toy! You can't treat me like this; I deserved respect-"

"Eight! Here, girl! Fetch!"

Holding Spirit by the arms, Lord Death raised him from the ground, over his head, and threw the Scythe away; with a scared yelped, Spirit changed to his Weapon form, twirling in the air. The puppy happily chased after him.

"AAAAAHH! I HATE YOU…!"

Entirely ignoring the redhead's declaration, Lord Death skipped to his son's side. "Hey, Kiddo~! How's going…?"

"I'm almost done, Father. I think I finally figured it out; I'll do it perfect this time."

For the umpteenth time that day –no one had the count of the previous days-, the young Reaper emptied his travel chest and began arranging his things so they would fit perfectly symmetrically.

-o-o-o-

Days later, Kid, Spirit and Eight found themselves in a train station in London.

"Are you sure this is the place?" inquired Spirit, eyeing suspiciously the scarlet steam machine stationed on the railway.

"Platform 9¾," nodded Kid.

"But this place is empty!"

It was true; aside for the occasional worker every then and there, the platform was utterly deserted.

"Well, the train leaves at 11…"

Spirit glanced at the clock; a little past eight…

The man groaned.

Speaking of the devil, Eight was attacking his pants again.

-o-o-o-

Sirius pushed the trolley through the barrier; or, in order to be accurate, he skated through the barrier rolling on the trolley with an only too loudly 'Hoo-Yah!' cry.

Suit followed (actually trying to remain unnoticed) the Potters, the Longbottoms, one Remus Lupin and another Peter Pettigrew.

"That was you being inconspicuous, Padfoot, my friend?" questioned James casually.

"But, Prongs, pal! I was! Everybody was looking to the other side!"

"Because they were too embarrassed of seeing a grown-up man acting like a child," pointed Lupin.

"See? It worked! _Ouch!"_

Grandma Longbottom pulled of Sirius' ear once again for good measure.

"That is no way to behave, young man! Think about the example you are setting for the children!"

Harry and Neville stifled a laugh.

"A bad one," nodded James. "Maybe that will motivate them to not be like him."

A harsh look from Augusta Longbottom while she readjusted her hold on her cane and both James and Sirius shut their mouths and kept walking in silence.

Frank's sneaker turned into a fit of coughs as soon as his mother's eyes were turned to him.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Longbottom," Lily apologized. "I knew I should have left them locked up on the cupboard under the stairs…"

"Hey, there's Cissy!" cried Sirius; an evil grin sprout through his face. He raised both arms and started waving and yelling. "HEY, CISSY! OVER HERE! COME ON, COUSIN, LOOK AT ME! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!

"ANSWER ME, NARCISSA! DON'T BE RUDE! WE ARE FAMILY!

"WE ARE FAMILY!"

"Live and learn, dear," stated the Longbottom matriarch. "Now, sweethearts," she said smiling at her grandson and Harry. "Let's find you two a nice compartment."

-o-o-o-

Now, even by wizarding standards there are some things you don't expect to see at a train station; one of these is a grown-up man, screaming and kicking while being assaulted and dragged around by a small, clumsy and fluffy cute puppy.

"KID! TAKE YOUR STUPID DOG OFF OF ME!" Such desperate cry echoed through the train station, causing those who hadn't noticed him yet (as hard as that might be) to fully focus on him like he was on fire, wearing a sparkling, hot pink tutu while juggling a dozen working chainsaws and a baby draconequus.

The pants finally gave off, leaving the man in a pair of orange boxers with clovers pattern and the legend 'Today is your lucky day' printed on the front; the puppy happily scurried away with her prize.

The man quickly stood up and chased after the little mutt, yelling threatens that caused most mothers to cover their children's ears and eyes (quite a difficult task with just one children, imagine two… though the mother of a bunch of redheads convinced her offspring to censored it themselves with just a stern look).

Now, most people with enough common sense would do the rational thing and stay as far away as possible from a crazy man which just has been mug by an adorable puppy; of course there are always the weirdoes that think that talking to the crazy, pantless man and offered to help him chase the puppy, get some pants or go to the nearest pub for a drink is a good idea…

And there's always the angry mob ready to burn to a crisp the crazy man who dares to threaten a puppy and tries to deprive it from its toy…

And the ones who think 'Hey! Look at that! Think we can make him even more miserable…?'

And that's the reason why the Weasley twins threw a set of Gobstones on Spirit's path, which not only made him fell flat on his face but had the extra especial effect of covering him with a fluid of an incredible fetid quality.

Eight went tumbling –pants firmly secured on between her teeth- and looked at Spirit. The Weapon looked back. Eight lowered her chest and lifted her hinder, her tail waggling.

A playful bark sounded muffled through fine, expensive fabric…

Albarn reached for his pants… and Eight pulled away.

Spirit's eyebrow twitched and he decided to try again.

Once again, Eight pulled the pants away just as the man's hand was about to close around the shredded leg.

Third's the charm. Spirit finally grabbed his pants… and started playing a tug-of-war for the right to own the clothes with the most adorable little puppy you could imagine.

He pulled and pulled, and so did Eight. When a ripping sound preceded Spirit's fall and he found himself sitting on the cold floor, holding only a piece of his pants while Eight munched the rest, his lip quivered.

He breathed deep a couple of time, a vein on her forehead popping frenetically.

Then, he did the only sensible thing to be done in such an occasion…

"KIIIIIIIIDDDDDDDD!"

A black blur sprung from one of the train's window, eliciting a chorus of gasps from the surprise audience.

As Kid quickly approached the place where Spirit, the DeathScythe, had lost all dignity at the paws of Eight, the Puppy, said mutt pranced happily to her master, presenting the thorn pants as an offering.

"Where the heck had you been?! This monster has been tormenting me for the past two and a half hours!" Spirit demanded to know as Eight proudly sat in front of the Grim Reaper. "I've been calling you nonstop!"

"I was arranging my belongings… I couldn't manage to set them perfectly symmetrical on the luggage rack until now."

Spirit rolled his eyes. "Would you mind giving my pants back? Or what's left of them anyway…"

"Your pants…?" Kid's eye widened as he took noticed of the matching fabrics on Eight's mouth and Spirit's hand.

Eight released the rag without a second thought as soon as Kid's hand outstretched in her direction. The boy inspected the remnants of Spirit's pants with a twitching eye before reaping the remaining leg off.

"NOOOO!" cried Spirit as the fabric hit the ground. "Why God?! Why?! It still had so much to life for!"

While Eight ran around the fallen pants leg (barking and prodding it with her paw every once in a while), Kid inspected his handiwork, finally sighing in satisfaction and handing the textile ruins back to their rightful owner.

"Here you go, Spirit. Now they are perfectly symmetrical once again!"

Spirit looked at his new shorts before raising his head and looking at the distance.

"I won't cry…" He told himself, regardless of how much his lip quivered. "I can be strong… _I won't cry…_ I can do this… I can…"

That's when the Longbottoms and the Potter extended family approached them, while everyone with two fingers of forehead opted for the sensible thing and proceeded to actively ignore the strange threesome.

"Hi, Kidd," Lily smiled warmly, eyeing warily the man who was sobbing over a pair of minced pants, as did both Mrs. Longbottom and Remus. Harry and Neville waved, politely looking at Spirit by the corner of their eye instead of openly staring so to not be rude; James, Sirius, Peter and Frank weren't that subtle. "Uh… Is this your father?"

Spirit's head snapped in her direction in a mechanical, rusted motion; his eyes sending daggers, the air around him ablaze.

"No, his father is a psycho bent in making my life a living hell, infested with rabid dogs and meat drenched underwear were your cries only serve to encourage those dogs to bury you and save your mangled corpse for later…" He offered his outreached hand to the woman. "I'm Spirit Albarn, I worked for said psycho."

The witch raised her eyebrow; her husband and his best-friend exchanged an amused look.

"Betcha the dental insurance is awesome," whispered James.

Eight sniffed at Sirius and barked.

"Hullo, little buddy," greeted the wizard with a toothy smile. "How are you?" He scratched her head, peering at the name tag. He raised an eyebrow. "Is this an eight or some weird rune?"

"An Eight…" hissed Spirit, glaring at the little Grim as her attention shifted to Lupin.

"Eight? Please tell me you haven't had seven more before him?"

"Her," corrected Kid. "And she's my first pet, why?"

"Why did you call her 'Eight'?" questioned Neville.

Kid blinked. "Why not? It's the most perfect name there could possibly exist!"

"…Okay?"

"How long until the stupid train leaves and I finally get rid of this spawn of the Kishin?!" cried Spirit as Eight hung from the remaining of his pants, growling with her teeth firmly clasped on the fabric, her tail moving from side to side.

"I didn't know dogs were allowed in Hogwarts…" commented Pettigrew, gaining an offended look from Sirius.

"They are not; the letter clearly states that students are only allowed to bring toads, cats and owls," said Lupin.

Spirit got really pale. "NO WAY! I NEED THIS THING OUT OF MY HAIR NOW! IT'LL BE SPITTING FIRE ANYTIME NOW!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Mooney! Everybody loves puppies!" retorted Padfoot.

"That's what Father said."

Death's official Weapon stepped away from Black, reluctant to be anywhere close to someone who possessed even if remotely similar thinking to his boss'.

"Whatever! That thing is going and that's final," stated Albarn. "Even if I have to carry it myself, even if I have to register it in that school and pay its tutuition, even if I have to-"

_Rip._

Eight fell to the floor with half Spirit's shorts clasped in her mouth.

"Oh, COME ON!"

"Why don't you fix it?" questioned Neville's mom. "Oh… don't tell me she chewed your wand?"

Spirit gave her a blank stare before comprehension set on his eyes.

"Chewed, spit and buried somewhere… It was the fifth this week!" He groaned, rolling his eyes. Close call dodged. "Hey! Would you mind fixing them? I rather not walk around like this…"

"Why not? It's quite a unique style that one you got there," Padfoot pointed at Spirit's orange boxers with the clovers and the 'Today is your Lucky Day' legend on them.

"And they seem clean enough, if you ask me," nodded Prongs.

Spirit rolled his eyes before looking pleadingly at the witches. "Could you help me? Pretty please with a cherry on top…?"

Mrs. Longbottom pointed her wand at him and Spirit found her pants as good as new, proceeding to put them on immediately.

"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you… GET AWAY, YOU STUPID MUTT!"

Kid scooped Eight on his arms. He looked at Spirit questioningly. "You know you still have to deal with Father's, right?"

Albarn stood still, completely petrified. "He doesn't have one of these devil's spawns."

Kid blinked. "He was going to adopt one today, I thought you knew."

Spirit stared at him wide-eyed. "What?! Why?!"

"He said a puppy would help him cope with me and Eight leaving."

"Oh, Death…" Spirit gulped. "Any idea what kind of dog he's getting?"

"Well, he was inclined for a Cerberus; thrice the heads, thrice the fun, he said."

"OH, DEATH!" Struggling, Spirit finally managed to put the pants on. "I gotta go."

Without a second glance, he ran to the exit and disappeared through the wall.

"Nice, fellow," nodded James. "I like him."

"Such a shame we didn't get to spend more time with him…" sighed Sirius sadly.

"Such irresponsibility," grumbled Mrs. Longbottom. "To leave such a young boy by his own!"

"He seemed to be in such a hurry," commented Alice. "And the train is almost here anyway." She turned to speak to Kid. "I heard you saying you were already in a compartment…?"

Kid nodded. "Yes, number eight."

At the sound of her name, Eight barked excited.

-o-o-o-

**OMAKE:**

Once Mr. Ollivander finished cleaning the burnt remains of his destroyed shelf –and the magnificent wands it used to contain- he took seat on a chair and allowed himself to rest.

He had had to do the cleaning the old muggle fashioned way, since using magic on a wand –especially one that had yet to find its owner, not to mention a lot of them, and particularly the mutilated rests of said lot- would be nothing lesser than too much stupid. Of course there were spells especially designed to work on wands, but none of them applied in his current situation.

He sighed as his owlish eyes fixed on the little mountain of dust that used to be one of his creations.

His fault really, no way to blame the boy; Ollivander himself had been the one to insist…

He stood up from the chair and, getting hold of his rake and swab, put hands to work and began cleaning the black ashes…

He stopped abruptly as something garnet picked out from beneath the dark powder…

With trembling fingers, he raised a long feather, the colour of fresh blood. He twirled the item in his hands, looking at it incredulous, examining it with the ease of several years of practice.

It was warm to the touch and it definitely exuded magic.

A sudden suspicion brought him to search in his pocket. He recovered a long thread of black hair and focused his attention on it.

He hadn't noticed before… he had thought it had lost its magic, but that wasn't the case.

The magic had just transformed.

He once again wondered about the child who had entered his shop and the mysterious father who had crafted such a unique and powerful wand.

He wondered…

His cleaning supplies abandoned on the floor, he walked to his shop door and secured it.

They were closing for the rest of the day.

His hands were shut tight around a single feather and a single hair.

He went to the back shop.

There were examinations to be conducted and letters to be written…


	5. The Skin of the Snake

**Hey, there!**

**I'm finally uploading. I'm sorry for the delay, but between work and the many times I had to correct this chapter, well, I hadn't been able to finish sooner. I'm still working on the next chapter for Death the Kid and the Broken Soul; I know I'm asking too much, but, please, be a little more patient.**

* * *

**The Grim Reaper and the Sorcery School.**

Chapter Five.

_The Skin of the Snake._

The train ran swift over the rails, leaving a trail of white smoke after it.

In the compartment number 8, while a black puppy slept comfortable on the floor, four boys were chatting amicably; the fourth boy -a large nosed, red-haired kid named Ron Weasley- had been dragged in said compartment to ensure the seats were arranged in perfect symmetry.

"You have never ridden a broom?" asked Harry incredulous. "It's the best thing ever!"

"I'd choose my skateboard over a broom anytime, always" stated the Reaper, shivering at the idea of using such a Witchy transport.

"A skate-board?" Ron laughed. "That's stupid! Why would someone skate on a board? At least you should use a carpet!"

Kid raised an eyebrow at him. "You can't perform tricks on a rug."

"But you can on a board?"

Kid sighed. "It's not a simple board! It's a skateboard! It has wheels!"

Now the redhead was confused. "Why does it need wheels?"

"To move."

"To move? Why? Can't it do it on his own?"

"No."

Ron was aghast. "So, you are saying that a skate-board is just a piece of wood with wheels? No magic?"

"Not usually."

"And why would someone want to ride such a thing?" cried Ron in disbelief.

"What kind of tricks?" questioned Neville, coming from under the seat holding a struggling toad. He returned to his seat, looking at Kid. "What kind of tricks you can do on a skate-board?"

"Well, there are many…" stated Kid. "Like flips, grinds, slides, drops…" It continued with a series of explanations and visual aids. "As I said before, they usually don't have magic, but mine does; it can fly."

"Like a broom?" Ron pushed.

Kid sighed. "In some way, yes, I guess."

"Now, that makes sense," Ron sighed, satisfied by the explanation, and got comfortable on his seat.

"I think that the skate-board thing sounds really exciting," Neville told Kid. "Do you think you can teach me how to ride one?"

"Of course, we can use mine."

At that moment, the door opened and a smiling dimpling witch looked at them. "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

The noise and the smell of food awoke Eight from her slumber and the happy puppy skipped her way to the trolley, followed closely by Harry and Neville, ready to assault the snacks, while Ron looked away ashamed. Kid approached the trolley and inspected the goodies, before looking over his shoulder.

"Ron, do you want anything?"

"No, thank you…" Weasley mumbled taking a lumpy package out of his pocket. "I brought sandwiches."

Kid shrugged and went to study the snacks, picking several of them and organizing them in several groups; once the boys were done getting their lunch, Neville and Harry searched in their pockets for money to pay their purchases.

"I'll pay." Kid took out a heavy money bag. "Which ones were the Sickles and Knuts, again?"

The three wizard kids and the witch looked at the boy, aghast by the casual carelessness shown to such an important amount of wealth.

"You don't have to buy us anything!" said Harry, recovering from the stupor caused of seeing so much money being shown so unconcernedly.

"I know, and you didn't have to help me with my purchases the other day," Kid shrugged and handed the witch a bunch of coins. "Is this enough?"

"It's too much!" cried the woman, returning to him the extra cash. "You should be more careful with your money." She looked at the three remaining boys. "Teach him how to deal with wizarding money and make sure no one takes advantage of him."

"Yes, Madame," nodded Neville.

The witch closed the door, leaving behind an awkward silence.

"Did your parents give you that much money?" asked Ron.

Kid took seat with Eight next to him trying to climb to the seat and get her part of the booty. "Yes, Father wasn't sure how much would be the adequate quantity, so he just filled the bag and told me he would send me more tomorrow."

"How comes you don't know how to handle wizard money?" asked Harry. "When we were getting our school supplies you didn't have a problem!"

"Your mom helped me back then," said Kid, sorting through his snacks and putting a Cauldron Cake on the floor which was promptly shredded to tears.

"You didn't notice because you glued your face to the windows to look for the Quidditch store every chance you got," pointed Neville; he then tapped his chin with his finger. "I guess American currency is different from ours and that's what confuses Kidd."

"I wouldn't know about currency; I'm not use to deal with money on a regular basis. The Executive Secretary is the one who takes care of any kind of transactions and payments." Kid took out several bags and proceeded to orderly stored most of his purchases on black silk pouches. "That should be enough."

"The executive secretary?" repeated Neville.

"Saving some for later?" asked Harry, looking at the colossal amount of food put aside by Kid.

"Those are for my Father; he asked me to get him some wizarding sweets." He turned to Ron once again. "Are you sure you don't want anything? These should be more than enough to share," he said pointing at the smaller (though still big) stash of snacks. "If it isn't, we can get more."

"It's more than enough for us four," said Harry combining his stash with Kid's; Neville followed short.

"Uh…" Ron looked at them unsure. He finally shrugged and reached for some candies. "Thanks."

The red-haired boy helped himself with a Pumpkin Pasty; Neville went for the Berty Bott's and Harry and Kid reached for some Chocolate Frogs.

The young Reaper unwrapped the chocolatey goodness and found himself staring at an all too familiar sight.

"Which card did you got?" questioned Harry, "I'm still looking for Agrippa."

"Hey, me too!"

Kid stared at the card on his hand while the character waved at him rather enthusiastically. Neville looked over his shoulder and his jaw dropped. "Is that…?"

Curious, Harry and Ron exchanged a look and hurried to see what was so special about that card. Once they got a look at the cheerful character, their minds tried to process what they were seeing.

"The Grim Reaper?" Ron finally asked. "I didn't even now they make his card!"

"I heard about it," commented Neville. "It's supposed to be an ultra-rare card; some say that it brings bad luck. I thought it was a myth."

"Well, it seems it isn't," said Harry.

Kid sighed and put the card in his pocket. He found himself looking at a pair of pleading reddish eyes and one black snout… from which a pair of amphibian and twitching legs could be seen.

"TREVOR!"

-o-o-o-

The travel to Hogwarts finally ended as the train arrived to Hogsmeade's station. The doors opened and the platform was filled with excited students. The First Years were quickly retrieved by Hagrid and escorted to the dark waters of the lake where they climbed on the boats and got their very first sight of their home for the next months and years.

The party promptly reached the castle and the First Years found themselves face to face with Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress.

Professor McGonagall inspected the new arrivals with stern eyes, causing shivers in the eleven years-olds.

They followed the professor across the flagged stone floor and into a small empty chamber where McGonagall stared at them for several seconds before addressing them:

"Welcome to Hogwarts. The Start-of-Term Banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House Dormitory, and spend free time in your House Common Room.

"The Four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House Points, while any rulebreaking will lose House Points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber.

The silence was complete, except for some hushed whispers here and there; the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife… But the screams cut it instead.

Several pearly, transparent figures had leaked through the walls and were gliding through the room, discussing with one another without seeming to notice the students until one of them – wearing a ruff and tights- took notice of the children; he was in the middle of asking them what they were doing there when he noticed Kid.

One by one, all the ghosts noticed the young Reaper and stared at him in complete silence, with a mix of fear, sorrow, melancholy and longing. The students looked at the ghosts, and then at each other, spooked.

Kid glared at those souls who had refused to take their rightful part on the cycle and preserved the Order of the World. Even though he knew the Magic in the air was affecting his Soul Perception, he scolded himself for not having noticed them before.

He would have to work on that. However, the matter of those wandering souls was pressing at the moment. Even though releasing them could expose him, as a Grim Reaper he couldn't just stand there and do nothing.

Kid narrowed his eyes and began to perform the Soul Collect as discretely as possible. As the door opened once again and McGonagall returned to the room, the ghosts changed into small glowing blue orbs and flew off through the ceiling at an astounding speed.

"What's happening here?" The witch looked up, following the directions the souls had disappeared to; however, the fearful screams of the students immediately caught her attention. "What happened?"

A girl with bushy brown-hair gulped down and answered with trembling voice: "The… ghosts… just entered through the wall, Professor," she explained, pointing to where the ghosts had first came from. "They were discussing something when suddenly they all began to stand completely still, in silence… and then, they just… they just…"

"I saw what happened then," assured the Animagus. "Thank you, miss…"

"Granger… Hermione Granger."

"Thank you, Miss Granger," nodded the professor. She looked around, at the other students. "Do any of you notice anything? A reason for the ghosts to behave in such way?"

There were several cries and hurried words from the children, but nothing likely to explain what had happened; most of them were too shaken to have noticed anything, even those of magical background.

"Professor…" said Hermione meekly. "What happened to the ghosts? There was nothing like that in any of the books I've read…"

McGonagall stood even firmer than she already was. "I don't know, Miss Granger, but I shall find out."

-o-o-o-

Dumbledore drummed his fingers on the table, humming softly to himself. It was taking longer than usual for the First Years to make their triumphal and scared entrance in the Great Hall; there were already several students (and teachers) desperate to sink their teeth in something warm and tasty.

The doors opened finally and Professor McGonagall and the First Years enter in the Great Hall.

The First Years were led to their rightful place in front of the teachers' table, facing their senior classmates.

It stroke the rest of the school as weird when Professor McGonagall walked directly to Professor Dumbledore instead of arranging the stool and the Sorting Hat in order to start with the Sorting Ceremony.

The Headmaster and his Second in Command talked quickly; most of the students and teacher tried to catch something of what was being said to no avail; the only one in an advantage position to do so were Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell. Several students bowed to bully the stutterer educator into revealing what had been discussed.

Finally Professor Dumbledore nodded and sat back on his seat while Professor McGonagall returned to the First Years.

She arranged the items needed to sort the students: the four-legged stool and, over it, the Sorting Hat.

Eyes fixed on the magical head-garment; it hadn't even uttered the first words of its traditional song when an anguish cried was heard. No one was sure of what was happening when the Sorting Hat was rudely taken from the stool, disappearing through the doors mere seconds later.

"Did Kidd just steal that hat?" questioned Harry, trying to make sure he wasn't imagining thing.

"I think so…" nodded Neville. "Maybe he wasn't up to the Sorting after all? He did seem a little shaken a while ago."

"We all were but no one else has a mental breakdown!" protested Ron.

The noise grew quickly in the Great Hall as everyone commented the hatnapping. Several professors had stood up and where on their way to pursue the thief; however, Professor McGonagall had had an early start and was already at the Entrance Hall, though there was no sign of the fugitives.

The Sorting –and therefore, the Banquet- had to be postponed for another hour, when the Sorting Hat was finally recovered, in the kitchen, none the least.

Twinkling with mirth, Dumbledore's blue eyes followed the return of Professor Sprout carrying a sparkling clean, completely repaired, almost new Sorting Hat -being followed closely by the bandit and surrounded by the other teachers for good measure.

The hungry complies and conspiracy theories ceased abruptly when Professor Dumbledore stood up. "I must admit, you did a magnificent work;" he complimented in cheerful voice, "still, I have to request that next time you feel the need to wash and sew the Sorting Hat –or any other item, for that matter-, you make sure to ask the owner, a professor, or said item first."

"I don't mind," assured the Sorting Hat. "As a matter of fact, I really appreciate it; I hadn't been pampered like this since Gryffindor attended his daughter's wedding! Feh! I hadn't even been washed since the lice epidemic of '27!"

"The good old times…" sighed Dumbledore contently, ignoring the expressions of disgust and the gagging noises of those around him.

"Imagine how it was when Snape was sorted!" whispered a Fred Weasley to his identical twin.

George looked at him with disbelief. "Didn't you hear?! The Hat hadn't been washed since '27… 1927 or 1827 or whenever doesn't matter! What matters is the fact…" The boy's eyes widened with fear. "…That we put on that hat… after Snape did…"

"Can we proceed with the Sorting Ceremony, _please_?" interrupted Professor McGonagall sternly, repositioning the Sorting Hat on the stool and looking at Kid with distrust.

"Of course, of course!" nodded Dumbledore magnanimously, sitting once again on his rightful place at the center of the staff table.

The Transfiguration Teacher rolled her eyes and proceeded to untie a scroll.

"Hey! I have not sung yet!" protested the Hat.

"You should have sung while bathing," retorted the woman, gaining several agreement cries from the students.

"It's tradition!" replied the magic cloth, indignant. "I shall not sort any student until I have sung my song!"

McGonagall gritted her teeth and breathed deep a few times. "Then -by all means- _sing your song, so that we can proceed with the Sorting!"_

"Thank you." The Hat cleared its throat, (wherever it is… Does it even have a throat?) and started to sing.

Meanwhile, in the group of First Year students, the fear of the Sorting Ceremony and the ghostspooky disappearing act had worn out completely ages ago (to be precise, when Kid had run away with the Hat).

"What were you thinking? Why did you go and steal the bloody hat?!" hissed Ron in utter disbelief.

"It was too dirty and shattered."

"We all heard that… And thank you, by the way, but why did you have to run away like that?" asked Harry.

Kid blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"How can you not understand?!" marveled Ron. "It's quite simple! No one in their right mind would just go ahead and kidnap a hat to give it a bath in the middle of some important definitive ceremony that will decide your future House! The Hat is probably going to put you in Slytherin for that!"

"I don't know… It seems it liked it…" Neville pointed out.

The conversation was interrupted when the Hat finished its song.

"There! Done! Was it that bad?" asked the Sorting Hat.

"Yes!" answered Professor McGonagall and more than half of the students.

The Transfiguration expert cleared her throat and raised a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

The Great Hall fell in complete silence as the Sorting proceeded; it wasn't long until it was turn for the Grim Reaper to step forward.

"d'Eath, Kidd!"

Kid sat on the stool and darkness befell over him as the hat slide past his ears and over his eyes.

"Well, well, well… What do we have here, uhm…?" whispered a voice in his ear. "I must thank you for your magnificent work in washing and repairing me. Now, it is time to see which House is more fitting for you.

Kid muttered quickly: "Could you please don't tell anyone about what you see in my mind?"

"Don't worry about it; I won't see neither memories nor thoughts; just the qualities and core believes required to sort you." The Hat remained silent for a moment, deep in thought. "Mhm… A good mind, centered around Order and Balance… You tend to lose your objective for your ideal… Willing to prove yourself, a desire to make your father proud… Brave, certainly, though not to the point of being reckless… Loyal and fair, not afraid of working hard, yet suppressing yourself and not giving the best you could do… You value knowledge and strategy, but there is nothing you value more than symmetry… Equilibrium between good and evil? A perfectly balanced world, I see… Rather ambitious, don't you think?"

"That's how the world should be!" hissed Kid. "I won't stop until the world is perfectly balanced!"

"Stubborn, aren't we? But you possess the resolve to achieve it. You remind me of a certain student; one of the first I ever sorted. He turned to be one of the greatest wizard of all and an excellent human being…

"SLYTHERIN!"

"And he seemed so nice…" sighed Ron. "Do you think the Hat is punishing him for what he did?"

Kid took the hat off and made his way to the table clad in green and silver.

The Sorting continued uneventful. Soon, every new student had been assigned a House; Dumbledore's speech before the Banquet had never been more appreciated by the famished students.

As usual, the act of quickly getting rid of the food and emptying the plates was used by the older students to finish catching up with the summer's news and events and to get to know their new housemates. The main interest that night, however, was the First Years summary of the incident concerning the ghost

At the Slytherin table, questioning the newcomers about their heritage was almost a sacred act, focus on ranking the blood purity and, therefore, their status within the Serpent House. Since the Wizard Families who prided themselves of their purity know each other and about each other rather well, this was usually a quick and painless procedure: painless for those whose background was close enough to the Sacred Twenty-Eight. For those who weren't… they would have to prove their value rather sooner than late, if they had any desire of having anything close to a nice school life.

As usual, the Head Boy and Girl and the Prefects were in charge of the inquisition.

This time, the attention was particularly gathered on the American kid responsible of stealing the Sorting Hat and evading detection for about an hour.

"Your name is Kidd d'Eath, right? What can you tell us about your family?"

It took a moment for Kid to notice that he was being talked to, engrossed as he was on organizing the contents of his plate in perfect symmetry. He cleared his throat, looking to his interlocutor carefully, making sure he remembered correctly his false background: "There is not much to tell about my family; my father and I are the only ones."

"What about your mother?" asked a girl around from Fourth or Fifth Year.

"I don't have one."

"I'm sorry," said the girl, not looking one bit sorry. "What happened to her?"

Kid sighed. "I never had one."

The girl blinked in confusion. "How is that possible…? You must have had a mother at one point! Otherwise you wouldn't have been born!"

The Reaper bowed his head slightly, narrowing his eyes slightly in confusion. "I never had one. It has always been just my father and I."

"Still, your mother was the one to give birth to you! Or could it be she was a mud-blood…?"

"If he doesn't want to talk about it, he doesn't have to," cut a prefect, giving the girl an eloquent look. "We'll discuss it when Kidd fells more comfortable amongst us."

Malfoy reclined in his seat, studying Kid through narrowed eyes. "Weren't you the one with that red-haired man in the platform? The one who was running around pantless?" This was received with several snickers. "Was he your father?"

"No, that was Spirit; my father asked him to accompany me since he couldn't."

"And how does your father know such a person?"

"Spirit works for him."

"What does your father do for a living?" asked the Head Boy.

"He is a researcher."

The Slytherins around exchanged a disdainful look: a researcher was certainly bond to be poor, needing to find some idiot they could squeeze for money.

So far, the weird boy had failed to impress his new housemate.

Another girl, about sixteen years old, spoke next:

"You are American, right? Don't you have magic schools there?"

"My Father liked Hogwarts better."

"Oh, did he attend?"

"No."

"What school did he attend then?"

"None," answered Kid nonchalantly.

Everyone stared at him in disgust.

"Muggle-Born?" The brown-haired boy spat.

Kid blinked in confusion. "What is that?"

"Oh, Merlin….! He is a Mud-Blood! I can't believe I'm sitting at the same table!"

Malfoy seemed torn between repulsion and delight. "A Muggle-Born is someone born from Muggle parents… non-magical people… Someone who doesn't deserve to be called a wizard…" he explained venomously and sweetly.

Kid's eyes narrowed, not missing the intention those words had been spoken in. "Why not?"

"Where to begin?"

"Wait! The Sorting Hat would never sort a muggle into Slytherin!" protested the Head Girl. "It's impossible. Only Pure-Bloods and Half-Bloods had entered this House since the times of Salazar."

"And how do you explain this boy's ignorance?!"

"I think they are not called Muggles in America," said someone. "There was another name…"

"Non-Wizards?"

Wiz-Withouts?"

"Un-Wizs?"

"Non-Sos?"

"Default Humans?"

"Wandless?"

"Norm McNonMagics?"

"No-Majs!"

"Yes! No-Majs! That's it!" cried the first girl with enthusiasm.

"That must be it," nodded the Head Girl. She then turned to look at Kid. "So, is your father a wizard or not?"

Kid frowned. "I don't see why that should matter."

"It does," snarled Malfoy. "And so does the people you befriend…"

"You better keep it quiet, Malfoy," muttered a Prefect. "Snape is looking this way, and believe me; you don't want him hearing you talking about this."

"Why should I care about what that traitor thinks?" snarled the blond boy.

"As long as you are in Hogwarts and, furthermore, in Slytherin, you care. Snape is our Head of House and always favors us, but if he hears you bad-mouthing what you shouldn't… you'll find yourself in some… disgusting… situations. And he can be quite creative when he wants to."

A Third Year nodded eagerly. "Do yourself a favor and don't get on his bad side."

The Head Boy leaned in his direction.

"Don't worry. We still have our ways of dealing with the dirt."

Malfoy grinned.

Across the table, Kid analyzed their expressions with a somber gleam in his eyes.

-o-o-o-

Once the Banquet was over and everyone had heard the warnings and sung the school song to Dumbledore's heart's content, the students began to exit the Great Hall. The staff observed their pupils leaving, chatting amicably and commenting amongst themselves about the new children and their expectations for the first week and the whole year. Some bets regarding the Weasley twins were made here and there.

"Minerva, Severus, Fillius, May I have a word with you?"

The professors turned around, finding the bright smile and blue eyes of the Headmaster. They followed Dumbledore apart, making sure their conversation remained private.

"It's about Mr. d'Eath."

"Figures," grumbled Snape. McGonagall glared at him.

"I'm glad he was sorted with one of you," confessed the old wizard. "I believe it will be difficult for him to adapt to school life."

"Because of that little demonstration with the Sorting Hat?" snarled the Potions Master. "I had figured out as much."

"Actually, I was talking about his application form and a minor incident involving his wand, though his escaping skills are really good! And I've never seen the Sorting Hat in such good shape!"

"What about the application form?"

McGonagall extracted some papers from her robe pocket, showing them to her coworkers; everything regarding the mother's information was smeared with black ink.

The Transfiguration teacher sighed. "I believed it had been an accident and wrote the parents about it, and the father answered back…"

"Not an accident at all," confirmed Dumbledore; "he did it on purpose and apparently failed to see what the inconvenient was.

"And as many of our students from wizarding families, Mr. d'Eath has been homeschooled and some of his father's observations are quite interesting: it seems he is already well versed in some Theoretical subjects, but his father is worried that he might have problems socializing with his peers since Mr. d'Eath isn't used to interact with people his own age."

"Or behave in formal events," pointed Snape.

"Is this really necessary, Severus?" argued McGonagall.

"No," replied Snape, matter-of-factly.

Dumbledore smiled brightly and resumed: "Also, I received a letter from Garrick Ollivander regarding Mr. d'Eath's wand. I'm correct to assume that Lilly told you about this?" he asked Severus.

"Indeed, she did." Snape glared at the Headmaster with narrowed eyes. "She and Alice Longbottom found the boy wandering in Diagon Alley… No parents around, so they took him with them to help him gathered his supplies…"

"What happened?" asked McGonagall.

The man sighed and rolled his eyes. "Nothing much until they reached Ollivander's. The old-man-"

"Please, Severus, Garrick isn't that old. He actually is younger than me!"

"As are some antiques, Headmaster. As I was saying, the old man was ready to display his little wand-fitting show when the boy announced he already had a wand. Of course Ollivander wanted to see it, and as soon as he tried to cast a spell, his whole store froze, literally."

Dumbledore nodded. "And when Mr. d'Eath tried some of Garrick's wands… Well, he lost the three of them and half the content of a nearby shelve as collateral damage."

"Oh, my…" muttered McGonagall. "How…? What happened?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Garrick thinks Mr. d'Eath's magic was more than his wands could handle –such a unique circumstance-; while Mr. d'Eath's wand had been specifically designed to fit his power: a powerful wand for a powerful wizard in the making.

"Therefore, I must ask you to be particularly attentive to Mr. d'Eath performance at your respective classes… and on the occasional quarrel on the hallways."

"Shouldn't we warn Quirrell? His class also requires the use of a wand," pointed Flitwick.

"I'll talk to Quirinus," assured Dumbledore. "Now, since you must be eager to exchange observation with the others, I shall not bother you anymore for the time being; maybe tomorrow morning…"

Dumbledore left the Great Hall, humming to himself. Apart from all the other little issues usually associated to running a school (like the Cerberus guarding the entrance to a trap infested passage in the third floor) he had two urgent matters at hand, one of which was particularly pressing: he had to find out what had happened to the ghosts and find someone to substitute for History of Magic.

-o-o-o-

**OMAKE:**

Spirit was covered in sweat and smoke.

He had just went to the Helldogpound and found the place in complete chaos: the workers (those who hadn't quit… _yet_) were trying to do some damage control, though they were mostly focused on staying alive, thank you very much.

The situation was soon enough completely out of hands, getting divided into Civil War: K-9 and the Dog Keepers organizing the Mother of Labor Strikes.

So Spirit had left without knowing what kind of abomination Lord Death had chosen to ensure his life remained a Hell in Earth.

The Death Scythe made his way to the Death Room, opening the door slowly and careful. He scanned the place, making sure it was safe before getting a foot in.

He advanced cautiously, attentive to the minimal sound that would signed he had been discovered. He finally arrived to the podium where the mirror stood tall.

There was no trace of Lord Death or the Monster.

Instead of this fact helping to calm Spirit's nerves, it only made him feel more unease. Waiting, anticipating the fatal blow to come, imagining what was in store for him was wrecking him. He knew he was in for a cruel treatment; he knew he was going to suffer big time; he knew he was going to lose what little dignity he had left; and yet, he couldn't bring himself to desert Lord Death and get the heck out of there as quickly as his still functioning legs could carry him.

"Hey, Spirit~! I wasn't expecting you yet… Thought you'd take a little longer~

"How was Kid? Did he get on the train uneventfully?"

The Death Scythe turned around, changing his arms into blades, ready to attack or –more likely- be attacked…

He found himself face to face with an industrial fridge-sized box being held in Lord Death's puffy hands, full of evil looking Hell Hounds from different breeds, who all were staring at him, growling threatening and showing their tiny razor teeth…

"Lookie here~ A box of puppies~! I heard there is nothing like this to cheer someone up! Whatcha think?"

Spirit gulped and stepped back. The growling became stronger.

"Allow me to make the introductions~ This is Agony, this is Suicide, this is Execution, this is Lethal, this is Burial, this is Purgatory, this is Capital Punishment, this is…" Spirit couldn't hear; his ears were buzzling with his erratic heartbeat; his lungs felt tight and the world around him spinning faster and faster. The only things in existence were him and the vicious pups. "And here," Lord Death pointed to the last one: a Cerberus, "we have Thing King, Chocolate Thun-da and Ben."

"GRRRR!"

"Oh, look, Spirit! They like you~!"

* * *

**Last minute notes:**

**All the words used until they finally come out with "No-Maj" are not mind, but from some page. You can google it as "27 ways to called Muggles instead of No-Maj" or something likethat. The reason I didn't use "Duddleys": wouldn't fit.**

**Also, i hope you realize there won't be an Omake for every chapter; only for those that require it.**


	6. Secret Unfold

**Long time no see!**

**Sorry for that. My job turned out to be too demanding this semester and I barely have time to breath. I've got about seven manga I haven't been able to read since January collecting dust on my shelf!**

**I'll leave you with the story. Just allow me to clarify a thing or two:**

**This story happens before the events in Soul Eater, so Kid's powers aren't completely developed yet. The part last chapter about Kid releasing the ghost was based in wwhat I supposed he was going to do in the Nidhogg ship before being rudely interrupted and attempted to be murder.**

**Energy absortion, yes, redirecting, not yet. Why? Neither in the manga or anime he was able to redirect the enemies' attacks or other forms or energy. Yet, he was able to absorb and retrieve some items through his hands (as for example Beelzebub, and where do you think he got his umbrella when he and Black*Star met Excalibur?).**

**I believe redirecting energy is way more complicated than retriveing objects from wherever weird dimension things go to through a Grim Reaper's hand.**

**Without further ado, your fic.**

* * *

**The Grim Reaper and the Sorcery School.**

Chapter Six.

_Secret Unfold._

The First-Year students were shepherded into their respective Common Rooms by the Prefects, Head Girls and Boys. At Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, the new acquisition were allowed to turn in for the night -in most cases- or escorted to the Owlery, for anyone who desired to informed their parents or guardians about their journey and sorting.

However, this wasn't the case for Slytherin.

It was traditional for the Slytherin House to have a pep talk (or –if you truly want to be specific- a lecture about expected behavior, manners, House unity and what terrible fate would befall upon the poor stupid for whom McGonagall or any other teacher decided to pay a visit to the Potion Master in his lovely dungeon or in any way caused Snape any hindrance or lose of free-time; the loss of House Points was handle by the students by rather discouraging methods). This was always conducted in the Common Room at the end of the Feast and was aimed for both new and old students, since Snape was a firm believer in the necessity of fear and intimidation as valid methods to ensure a thoroughly education.

The Potion Master entered the gloomy and dark Common Room, successfully creating a thick atmosphere of silence and apprehension. His dark eyes surveyed the congregated, stopping a moment in the boy with the black and white hair, holding an excited puppy, surrounded by several girls form different ages.

The man mentally rolled his eyes; of course the brat would have a dog! Repelling creatures… The letter specified clearly that only cats, toads and owls were allowed and, yet, there was always some idiot who thought a puffskein, rabbit or some other disgusting creature qualified as an exception to the rule.

Yet another reason to have a thoughtful talk with the boy.

-o-o-o-

"Mr. d'Eath, come here and bring your mutt with you."

Kid quickly did as ordered, approaching the dark man as Eight fought energetically to escape his grip and play with the cats and humans gathered in the place. Malfoy and several other children snickered smugly.

"Yes, professor?"

"Since the Headmaster already… _lectured_ you regarding your behavior at the Great Hall, I won't mention it again. Just keep in mind that if anything of the sort happens again, I will personally ensure that you **regret **it. Did I make myself clear?"

Kid blinked in confusion. "I don't think I understand…"

'Great… As if there aren't enough dunderheads in Hogwarts…' Snape internally rolled his eyes. "You shall behave perfectly by the whole length of your magical education; any transgression, any small mistake and you will be facing my wrath, and believe me, boy… I can make you dread opening your eyes every morning and finding yourself in Hogwarts…"

Kid stared for a second. "Okay, I guess. Is there anything else, Professor?"

Snape clenched his mouth shut, effectively turning his lips into a thin line; his gaze was trying to burn holes in the boy's head. Strangely enough, his legilimency wasn't having the slightest effect; it was either the boy was well trained in Oclumency or –more likely- there wasn't any mind to delve into.

"Are you aware that dogs are not enlisted as allowed pets, Mr. d'Eath?"

The young Reaper sighed. "That's what I told my Father." He secured his hold on Eight with one hand while the other searched in his pocket. "He instructed me to give you this in case there was any problem regarding Eight."

Kid presented a black envelope; Snape grumpily snatched the item, opened the envelope, unfold the paper and scanning the content, stopping short once he got a look at the childish doddles decorating the text.

"Your father wrote this? Didn't you or a younger sibling of –let's say- four years old write this?"

"I didn't and I don't have any siblings; my Father wrote the note."

"Is your father mentally challenged?"

"Huh? What?"

Snape showed Kid a bad drawing of something slightly resembling a dog.

"Father was bored and thought some drawing would help to get his point clear."

"Something is perfectly clear, no doubt…" muttered Snape, proceeding to read the letter. "A service dog? Really? May I ask which kind of illness or disability do you present that requires the constant assistance of a bag of fleas? Especially one this small…" He kept reading, his eyebrows rousing. "Of course, detecting demons and Scoundrels… Silly me, however could not I see this coming?"

Snape lowered the note. "I assure you, Mr. d'Eath, that there is no reason for you to worry about things as demons and Scoundrels for the length of your stay in Hogwarts."

"I think my Father also used invisible ink."

"Of course he did…" Breathing deeply and counting to ten, Snape raised his wand and touched the tip on the paper; it shone purple for a second, sending shivers to Snape's spine. He read the new revealed letters, turning pale with each word.

Once he finished, he lowered the sheet of paper and stared hard at the black puppy.

"Very well…" muttered the Potion Master. "Shall we ask for the Headmaster's opinion in this particular issue?"

-o-o-o-

"Quite cleaver, as a matter of fact," mused Dumbledore. "Anyone reading this note would discard it as a joke (the doodles support this effect quite well, actually); however, once you get to the invisible ink…"

"Can we return to the actual point? In which we have a Grim pup in the castle?" inquired Snape with bad contain irritation.

"Of course, of course…" nodded the Headmaster, turning his attention to Eight, who was barking at Fawkes and challenging him to play.

"Mr. d'Eath, how did your father manage to get a hold on a Grim?" questioned the wizard.

"At the dog kennel. He often goes there to get hellhounds to trace or guard things."

"Of course, there aren't finer guardians in the world."

"What could possible your father would want to guard so much that he needs hellhounds?"

"Many things. Mostly from his private collection."

"It is only natural, Severus, that we want to ensure the safety of that we treasure the most," stated Dumbledore, nodding slightly in Kid's direction.

"There is still the fact, Headmaster, that certain ways to… ensure… said safety, are more dangerous than the danger itself."

It was rather hard to take Snape's words seriously when Eight was proving some fallen feathers with her paw and barking at them furiously every time they send embers around.

"Not to mention the fit most parents shall throw once they learn there is a dog of Death anywhere close to their children."

"Indeed, Grims have a dark reputation… What better chance to change it?"

Snape groaned. The old geezer had already made his mind about the hellhound staying.

"Besides, who doesn't love puppies?" asked Dumbledore.

"Father said the same."

Severus ignored the sudden need to massage his temples.

At his back, Fawkes squawked.

"Look at that… Eight is already breathing fire… Congratulations, Mr.d'Eath."

"Father will be thrilled."

Snape sent a resentful look to his boss

-o-o-o-

Snape and Kid returned to the dungeons chatting amicably about the horror that would befall upon Kid if his pest dared to harm the esthetics and cleanliness of Slytherin Common Room or eat a fellow student.

Kid was granted a special permission to be out of the Common Room at night; only to take his mutt out, and he was under no circumstance to wander away from the path to the Main Doors. The flea bag shall remain in the gardens while he attended classes and stay clear from the Great Hall. By no means shall there ever be paw prints on the hallways nor any other excuse for Filch to bother Snape, including no hunting his damn mummy of a cat.

While they crossed the third floor, they ran into Professor Quirrell, who was in charge of patrolling that part of the castle; without any warning, Eight dashed towards the man, jumping into him and effectively tackling him to the ground, where she proceeded to viciously attacked his head and flaunting over her new acquired fire-breathing abilities. The stuttering educator cried and shrieked, covering his turban with one arm while frenetically searching for his wand with the other.

"Eight! Stop it!" commanded the Grim Reaper.

The dog roared at the man before obeying her master and returning to his side.

Quirrell shakily sat up, breathing with difficulty and pointing his wand to the feral beast which so suddenly had attacked him. His eyes were dead set on the black canine, his expression showing no fear, but a definitive desire to maim and kill.

"It must be your cologne, Quirinus," said Snape softly, taking a step in front, shielding his student; his eyes were trained on the man and his wand ready to counterattack. "As you must know, dogs are rather sensitive to odors. And this one happens to have been trained as a guardian.

"It is quite understable what just happened."

For an instant, Quirrell gave Snape a look of the utmost hate, before retrieving his mask of fear and insecurity. It had been enough for Snape to glimpse at the other's mind, just a peek of darkness and ambition enough to backup the Potion Master's thoughts of the man and reaffirm the suspicions he had had ever since the Quirrel present himself in Hogwarts to take the DADA position.

"I-I th-think I n-need to lay d-down f-for a mo-ment," stuttered Quirrell.

Kid stepped up, holding Eight firmly in his arms. "I'm sorry, Professor. I don't know what happened to Eight; she usually doesn't behave like this."

A sudden expression of unbearable pain crossed the man's features.

"I-it is oka-okay," said he out of breath, holding his temples. His skin had palled and was covered in sweat.

Eight showed her pointy teeth and growled. Quirrell spared her a quick glance before promptly leaving the corridor, still holding his throbbing head.

"So, Mr. d'Eath, is Professor Quirrell a demon or a Scoundrel?"

Kid didn't answer; he seemed to be deep in thought, his gaze focus far away from Eight's adoringly eyes.

Unknown to Snape, the Grim Reaper was trying to use his Soul Perception to figure Quirrell out with no luck; the magic was too dense, numbing him and keeping him from finding the very soul he had come to collect.

-o-o-o-

Quirrell had the presence of mind to lock the door of the classroom he had sought refuge into.

He stumbled to the desk and leaned his weight on the solid surface, breathing deeply.

"Take this thing off!" order a furious voice from within Quirrell's turban.

"Y-yes, M-master…" answered Quirrell, still trembling from pain.

He quickly undone his turban, allowing Lord Voldemort's face to breath.

"The boy! Who it was?! TELL ME!" roared what remained of the evil wizard.

"Th-that was K-Kidd d'Eath, M-master…" Quirrell forced himself to recovered his composure despise the pain his master's anger caused him. "He was the boy that stole and washed the Sorting Hat."

"DESCRIBE HIM!"

Quirrell closed his eyes in agony."He has black hair with white stripes across! Golden eyes! Rather tall!"

Voldemort snarled, the events from Hallow' Eve almost eleven years ago repeating themselves once again in his mind.

"First Year?! Are you sure?!"

"Yes! He is a First Year! A mere child!"

"That is no mere child!" roared the Unspeakeable.

No normal child at all; eleven years had passed, the one responsible of his demise should had been an adult by then.

Still, if Quirrell spoke the truth-and there was nothing against this- the child hadn't aged at all. Even more, he had came to Hogwarts at the same time he was trying to get his metaphorical hands on the Philosopher's Stone.

That wasn't coincidence, couldn't be.

If Lord Voldemort wanted to recover his body and-therefore- his former power and glory, he ought to destroy the damn brat before he destroyed him for good.

At least, this partially answered something that had been bothering him ever since that fatidic night so long ago: how a kid had been able to defeat the greatest wizard of all.

And the answer was quite simple; something he had already figured out almost at the same time his body was lost: that wasn't an ordinary kid. In fact, he probably wasn't a kid at all, but a powerful wizard who had discovered an effective way to avoid death; someone who didn't age, who didn't weakened.

Someone who didn't die.

And his secret would soon belong to Lord Voldemort.


End file.
